Calm Before the Storm
by Awesomesauce123
Summary: Clary looked up at him through a veil of curls and tears. "I'm sorry, Simon. I'm so, so sorry." And then, with enough force to rock him back on his heels, she lunged forward and crushed her lips to his. SxC. Post-CoG. Rated M for the F-bomb.
1. Sorry

**Disclaimer:** The characters and places mentioned in this story belong to Brooklyn and the epic Cassandra Clare.

- - - - -

"So, how was it?"

Simon didn't look up from the curling, yellowed paper held between his slim fingers, but he smirked a little and asked, "How was what?"

Clary rolled her eyes, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips. "You know what I'm talking about, fang-boy."

"First of all," Simon chuckled, finally lowering the paper to look up at her through the fringe of his dark lashes, "you've been hanging around Jace too much. And second, I really don't know what you mean, Clary."

She pursed her mouth thoughtfully, searching his expression for any trace of sarcasm or mockery. But his dark eyes were clear and genuinely confused. She sighed, the amused smile fading slowly from her lips. "I mean, how was it with Isabelle?"

Simon's expression quickly darkened, and Clary was reminded of the calm that came before a raging thunderstorm. When he spoke, Clary couldn't help the shiver that rolled down her spine at the cold, rough tone to his voice. "Clary, we've already been through this. I _did not _sleep with Isabelle. You believe me, don't you?" Toward the end, his expression softened, and he reached out to tenderly clasp his fingers around her shoulder.

Clary lifted her hand to rest it over his closed fist, smiling gently at his uncertain expression. "Yes," she whispered, "Of course I believe you, Simon."

An unreadble expression flitted through his dark, thickly-lashed eyes, so swift and darting that Clary wondered if it was really even there at all. "Simon?" she asked slowly, tightening the grip she had around his clenched fist.

Simon flashed her an assuring smile. Despite the comfort, something nawed worriedly inside the pit of her stomach, burning acidly in her throat, making her smile feel forced and plastic. She kept it plastered to her face, though, trying to remain cheery and calm. She wondered absently what Simon saw in her face - worry? Fear? Happiness? Discomfort?

Her question was answered when he suddenly pulled away from her, leaning back in the plush library chair casually, his expression nonchalant, but the paper in his hands gripped so tightly Clary thought the ancient parchment would shred.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, softly, setting the old paper aside before clasping his hands tightly in his lap.

Clary's eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed with concern. "About what, Simon? You didn't do anything."

He shook his head, and his unkempt hair curled over his forehead in a tangled curtain, spilling a puddle of shadow across his sharp cheekbones.

It was then that Clary noticed the slight tremble in his hands, the sickly pale pallor of his skin, the way he pulled his bottom lip beneath his top teeth, nibbling it absently.

Clary's eyes widened, and she lifted her hand as though she was going to touch him, but quickly drew back, thinking better of it. "Simon," she whispered, "_I _should be the one who's sorry. You're hungry."

Simon turned his face a fraction to the side, trying to hide his expression. But Clary caught the tightening of his mouth, the way his cheeks hollowed out in pain, the faint gleam of sharp incisors above his bottom lip.

"Oh, gosh, um - I can go ask Jace if he'll-"

Her frantic rambling was cut off by a single finger pressed against her lips, silencing her speech. "Clary." Simon's voice was gentle, but firm and scolding. "Stop it. You don't need to worry about me. Just... go. I'll find a squirrel or something."

Clary nodded slowly, although the thought of Simon munching on some poor, oblivious squirrel made her stomach roil repulsively. She pulled away from him and hurried to the small door of the library, her footsteps clicking faintly on the hardwood floors. As she pressed her hand to doorknob, she spared one last glance over her shoulder at Simon.

But he was already the gone, the ancient parchment lying forgotten on the small round table, the wispy white curtains billowing out in the breeze flowing through the open window.


	2. Silver

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns all.

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The kitchen of the Institute was bustling with noise and movement by the time Clary trotted downstairs, her face a mask of worry and weariness.

Isabelle greeted her at the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a long black silk skirt that nearly brushed the floor, and her hair pulled up messily behind her head. Her face was dotted randomly with brown spots of what Clary suspected was chocolate, judging from the faint smell of it lingering beneath the stench of burning cloth emanating from the kitchen. She sighed but smiled, trying to duck past Isabelle and into the kitchen to see Jace, but Isabelle's arm shot out and blocked her path.

"Uh uh uh," the taller girl chided, waving a chocolate-coated wooden spoon at her. Clary dodged a glob of brown goop that detached itself from the spoon. It smacked the wall beside her with a disgusting splat.

Isabelle chuckled nervously and tucked the spoon protectively into a pocket of her smart white apron, which looked as though it had been run over repeatedly by a semi. Her eyes glittered wildly, and there was an unsettling smile curling her red lips. "No red-heads allowed," Isabelle clucked, pointing one chocolate-tipped finger at a hastily made sign hung above the entrance to the kitchen. _NO CLARY FRAYS ALLOWED _it read in Jace's curly, sloppy hand.

Clary's curiousity was instantly piqued, but she warily backed away from Isabelle, who had one hand placed over the lethal spoon tucked into her apron, and a manic gleam in her dark eyes.

Clary held up her hands in mute surrender as she backed away from the grinning Shadowhunter. "Okay, okay," she allowed, "I'm leaving...."

Clary turned and hurried back upstairs once Isabelle was out of eye-shot, her socked feet padding silently up the marble steps. Once she reached the top floor, she paused. Where to go? To her left lay the seperate bedrooms of her friends - beginning with one for Jace, one for Clary, another for Isabelle, and the last one a bedroom that Alec and Magnus shared. But, across from Jace's lay Simon's spare bedroom, used only when he wasn't out traveling through different states and countries, or just visiting his mother and his old mundane friends.

Clary was surprised to note that the door was open a crack, allowing a sliver of silvery light to spill out into the dark hallway. She padded quietly to the slightly ajar door, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Apprehension fluttered in her stomach at what might lay on the other side of the door, and sweat shone dully against her pale forehead. And she had no idea why.

Slowly, she grabbed the edge of the wooden door and pulled it open, her sweaty palms nearly sliding off the wood multiple times.

When the door was finally open, her breath caught instinctively in her throat.

Simon lay upon his pure white bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung black jeans and the everpresent silver chain Clary had bought him for his birthday, complete with a little silver skull dangling at the hollow of his throat. His black hair spilled out onto the white pillow beneath his head, staining the pure fabric with ebony. One arm dangled carelessly off the edge of the bed, while the other folded across his chest, his fingers splaying out against the middle of his pale chest. His feet also hung off the edge of the bed; Simon was a good four inches taller than Jace, and nearly six inches taller than Alec. But he was still shorter than Magnus - who wasn't?

Clary's gaze came to rest on his face. The silver moonlight pouring in through the window highlighted all the high, sharp planes and angles of his handsome face, coloring in the hollows under his high cheekbones with black shadows. His long, dark lashes cast shadows down his cheeks, shadows which nearly stretched down to his parted pink lips.

Clary didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until she felt the raw burn deep in her chest. She exhaled slowly, but kept her position in the doorway, just watching Simon's peaceful face while he slept. Two minutes later, she realized there were faint calls of her name echoing downstairs.

Casting one last longing, regretful look at Simon's peaceful face, she turned and hurried back toward the stairs, leaving Simon alone once again, bathed in pale moonlight.


	3. Surprise

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns all this good stuff.

- - - - -

As she neared the top of the marble staircase, the cries of Clary's name became much louder, piercing her ears with a rhythmic beat. She could easily identify Jace's voice, smoother and more seductive than everyone else's. But she also easily make out Magnus's deep, smooth drawl, mixing in hypnotizingly with the others' cries of her name.

By the time she reached the last smooth step, cold through the soles of her dirty socks, the shouts were frantic and losing their captivating beat, blending into a whir of unidentifiable voices and uproarious giggles.

Now she found the kitchen to be hidden from her view by a sheet of purple velvet nailed cleverly above the entryway. Even through the thick blanket, her friends' voices were startlingly loud, nearly shaking the foundation of the house with their joyous cries.

Reluctantly, she gripped the edge of the smooth velvet. Her mouth was pursed in suspicion. Finally, with a deep breath, she ripped the edge of the velvet sheet away from the entry to reveal the kitchen.

And her jaw immediately went slack.

The usually pristine white kitchen was splattered with giant gobs of dark, sticky goo, and the floor was covered in a fine dusting of spilt flour. Bowls, spoons, boxes, containers, bags, trays, and various other utensils lined the three-wall counters, turning the granite tops into a junkyard of their own. There was a chocolatey hand print smeared across the gleaming door of the refridgerator, and another imprinted on the _ceiling_, of all places.

And, in the center of it all, her friends stood grinning at her.

Jace looked especially happy, nearly radiant as he stood with his hands folded behind his back, a grin lighting his face. His golden eyes sparked with barely concealed amusement, highlighting the small scars dancing around the glowing pools of light.

Alec and Magnus stood to his left, looking disturbingly different standing together, with Magnus's tight purple leather pants and black mesh top layered over a neon pink shirt, and Alec in a tight, but frayed black sweater and worn jeans. The warlock had his arm hooked around Alec's waist, keeping the Shadowhunter securely at his side. Both were grinning widely, Alec with a faint blush dancing on his cheeks.

Isabelle was in the same attire she had been wearing when Clary had seen her twenty minutes ago, except now her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, rolling like ebony waves to just below her rib cage.

The edge of a chocolate-frosted lopsided cake was barely visible behind their bodies, tilting precariously to the left. White frosting decorated the edges of the chocolate, creating an oddly pale brown color that made Clary's stomach lurch, and her suspicious feelings rise considerably higher.

Much to Clary's dismay, the sudden thought that someone was missing struck her mind. She shoved the thought away and allowed a smile to light her face brightly. "What's this?" she asked, and wary suspicion colored her voice despite her brilliant grin.

Isabelle laughed. "Don't act like you don't know!" Her voice was incredulous and teasing, but her jaw slackened when she saw Clary's amused expression melt into confusion. "Are you serious?" Isabelle was completely mocking her now, folding her arms over her barely-concealed chest in astounded disbelief. "My Gawd, Fray, you didn't even know it was your own birthday?"

Clary froze, eyes widening, and then she groaned and slapped a hand over her face. "Oh, _man_," she muttered, "That's right. And I was supposed to wait for a call from Mom and Luke!"

The entire group across from her laughed, and Clary nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep, husky voice directly behind her suddenly asked, "What's with all the noise?"

She turned quickly, and immediate elation filled her at the sight of Simon standing in the kitchen doorway, standing out brilliantly against the darkness of the velvet behind him. He was still shirtless, and his chest was smooth and white as ivory. The silver chain gleamed at his throat, drawing her eyes up, up to where he was staring sleepily at her, his face framed by a dark halo of messy black hair. His lips were parted, eyes squinted with sleepiness. She was embarrassed when she realized her eyes had absently traveled lower, to the deep grooves etched into the skin between his hip bones, disappearing tantalizingly into the waistband of his low-slung black jeans.

Clary quickly shot her gaze back up to his face, where a deeply amused expression now resided. His eyes were hooded, but she could see that the weariness had completely left him already. A smirk tilted his lips. "Like what you see?" he asked in a voice too low for the others to hear, but just loud enough to make a blush sear across Clary's cheekbones like scarlet fire.

She turned away quickly, folding her arms selfconciously over her small chest. Simon chuckled softly behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled unconciously at the rich, raw, throaty sound he reserved only for her. She exhaled slowly, and then looked quickly up to the meet the eyes of the others again, her face bright.

"Well," she murmured mostly to herself, willing away the image of Simon's toned body that had burned into her brain, "Happy birthday to me!"


	4. Sometimes

**Disclaimer**: Not I, but Cassandra Clare. She owns all this good stuff.

- - - - -

Clary's lips were still tingling where Jace had kissed her softly and sweetly after they had all devoured the homemade chocolate cake, but the entire left side of her face seemed to hum with electricity where Simon had pressed his mouth quickly to the skin of her cheek. She touched the vibrating flesh hesitantly, her brows knit with confusion, mouth pursed.

She sighed and drew her hand away, finally turning to face the small mirror hanging beside the closet. Her reflection stared back at her, wearing an expression of weariness and lingering excitement, laced with unsettling confusion. Wide green eyes stood out startlingly from the reflection's pale, flushed face, contrasting sharply with the thin purple scarf knotted around her neck from Magnus and Alec. Sweat glistened damply on her forehead.

With another slow exhalation, Clary stood from the edge of her neat white bed, stretching the aches out of her bones she had developed from sitting completely still for ten full minutes. The delicate silver chain she had received from Isabelle tinkled merrily on her wrist, and Clary glanced down at it with an odd expression residing in her eyes. Tiny colored charms winked back at her from their hooks, glowing electric blue, hot pink, and white gold in the bright light emanating from the lamp on her small table. She smiled a tiny ghost of a smile, and then moved to her closet.

Sliding back the plain white door, she frowned when she saw her meager wardrobe, made up of a few plain T-shirts, a sweater, the silvery dress Amatis had given to her the night of the celebration, and her favorite green hoodie. She kept her leather Shadowhunter gear stored in a chest at the foot of her bed, along with the Morgenstern ring, as a reminder of Jace in his earlier days, before the complication of his life. Before Simon. Before Valentine. Before _Clary. _

As she reached for her comforting green hoodie, frayed from the adventures of her pre-teens, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Clary jerked and gasped in surprise. Behind the thick door, a low chuckle could be heard.

Clary smiled out of habit and rolled her eyes at the sound of Simon's familiar laugh. _Stupid ultra-sonic vampire hearing, _she thought, but it was a hollow, meaningless insult.

Hurrying to the door, her hoodie forgotten, she quickly wrenched the door open, revealing a familiar grinning face staring down at her. "Simon," she laughed breathlessly, "Hi."

The vampire removed one hand from it's position inside his jean pocket to wave half-heartedly at her. He was smiling, but it was a wobbly, nervous thing.

Clary's interest instantly piqued at the sight of his hands twisting and turning within the confines of his jeans pockets, a nervous habit he had upheld when he was a young child.

"Can I help you?" Clary drawled suspiciously, a wary smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

Simon chuckled again, this time softly, before removing his hand once more from his pocket to cup the back of his own neck, another nervous habit he had developed as a young boy.

"Well, um, actually...." He paused and snapped his mouth shut, finally moving his fingers back into his jeans, where they dug around blindly for a few seconds. After a minute or so, his hand retracted, revealing something small and shiny that he thrust toward her blindly. "Happy birthday, Fray," he mumbled quietly, a fine dusting of pink coloring his pale cheeks.

Clary gently wrapped her fingers around the small object he produced from his pocket, her mouth drawn up into a curious smile. "Aw, what's this? You know I don't like you wasting your money on me, Si-"

Her voice cut off abruptly when she finally realized what exactly she now clutched in her hand. Her jaw slackened and her emerald eyes widened, incoherent stutters falling from between her parted lips. "Oh, Gawd, Simon. It's _beautiful_! Thank you, thank you, it's gorgeous!"

In her palm, she cupped a wide, thick silver ring, decorated with a design of complex, intricate Runes interwoven deep into the surface. The shiny ring gleamed brilliantly when she slid it onto her finger. "It fits perfectly," she murmured, and her voice was a raw whisper. She didn't realize she was crying until a single fat drop of salty water dripped onto the hand she held in front of her.

"Clary?" Simon asked, and his voice held frantic urgency. "Clary, what's wrong? Is it the ring? Did I-"

Now _his _rambling was interrupted, when Clary suddenly let out a shriek of joy and launched herself at him, falling effortlessly into his outstretched arms. Simon's dark eyes widened considerably, but his arms instantly circled her tiny waist, drawing her into him with a smile.

"I take it you like the ring?" His voice was husky and teasing, but Clary caught the underlying serious tone to it.

She crushed her arms around his waist and grinned into the fabric of his newly-applied T-shirt, mumbling through it, "I _love _it, Simon."

Simon smiled and leaned down, pressing his mouth in a chaste kiss to the top of her head. He seemed to mumble something into her scalp, and Clary arched her neck back to look up at him, her mouth pursed suspiciously.

"What?"

Pink light seared across Simon's cheekbones, and he looked down at her with wide eyes. Stumbles whooshed past his parted lips in nearly incoherent gasps. "I-uh.... I-my-you.... You're...."

Clary cut him off by repeating his earlier action, and pressing her index finger to his slightly parted pale lips. "Simon. Hush." Her tone was gentle but reprimanding. "Calm down. I understand; you don't have to tell me."

The nervous light in Simon's brown eyes instantly faded into sadness, and he reached up to cup Clary's shoulder tenderly. "I'm sorry, Clary. It's not that I don't _want_ to tell you." He cast his gaze down to the carpeted floor, teeth tearing into his lower lip in clear embarrassment. "I just... can't. I'm sorry," he repeated, and Clary smiled. It was a miserable, withered thing, but her eyes seemed to glow with that everpresent happiness of hers.

"It's fine, Simon. I understand," she reassured him. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Simon's eyes shot back up to her face, lanced with pain and fear and sorrow, but the unreadable expression hidden deep beneath those other battling emotions was the most interesting, guarding something in those deep brown irises of his.

"Yeah," Simon agreed breathlessly, stepping quickly away from Clary's arms, his gaze directed now at a point somewhere behind her. "Some things. But sometimes things are just far too complicated to be left unsaid."

And, with that cryptic message hanging ominously in the air between them, Simon turned and disappeared into the hallway, melting into the shadows dancing along the pale walls. His bedroom door clicked shut a few seconds later, and Clary was left staring at the space where he had stood, her fingernails clicking absently against the surface of the intricate silver ring.


	5. Sleep

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare own the characters and most of everything else mentioned, but I proudly own the plot.

- - - - -

Simon sat heavily down on the edge of his bed. Hazy moonlight poured in through the single bare window of his room, highlighting the naked skin of his arms and face with wispy tendrils of pale ivory. His dark eyes seemed to pulse with an unnatural light, an affect of the moon's glow, and if Clary were there, she would have said he looked like the true sterotype of a vampire - deranged, unstable, and startlingly evil.

But Clary _wasn't _there, because Simon just had to go and be all dark and mysterious, leaving her bedroom with a cryptic message hanging in his wake. He knew it was dumb, he knew he should have just told her the truth. But he also knew that admitting to his best friend of nineteen years that he had mumbled _'and I love you' _into her hair probably would have been just a tad bit awkward.

With a final, heaving sigh, Simon threw his hands over his eyes and flopped back onto his bed, the pristine sheets instantly flying up around his crumpled form in a billowing cloud of white. The sensation of the tangled sheets settling slowly down over him was comforting yet annoying, causing him to roll over until the crisp blankets were removed from his body and he was curled up at the foot of his bed, one arm thrown over his closed eyes, the other splayed out across his clothed chest. The fingers there curled absently into the fabric of his shirt, tightening until, much to Simon's dismay, the thin fabric shredded like paper between his fingers.

"Dammit," he mumbled softly, dropping both arms limply to his sides, allowing the mangled shirt to fall around his torso like a shredded curtain of grey.

Sighing, Simon balled his hands into fists before raising them to massage his aching temples, clenching his dark eyes shut as he willed away the feelings of guilt and disappointment that washed over him in a tide of depressing sensation.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, occupied only by Simon's even, unneeded breathing and the faint sound of his knuckles kneading into his pounding skull. But then what had been a final moment of quiet tranquility burst into a thousand pieces as the door to Simon's bedroom creaked open, and a shadowy figure was revealed in the dark doorway.

The figure was tiny and slim, her facial features hidden by a web of shadows, but Simon could easily make out the sillhouette of his best friend.

Clary looked small and frail in the spiderweb of shadows and light lacing randomly across her body, highlighting certain parts of her petite frames with ivory light, and bathing others in ominous shadow.

"Clary?" Simon breathed softly, pulling himself up on the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain it sent coursing through his skull like fiery strikes of lightning. "What's wrong?"

The young girl framed silently in his doorway finally lifted her head to look up at him, and Simon caught a smile playing on her lips among the wispy shadows and gentle tendrils of curls waving down the sides of her flushed face. "Nothing," she answered quietly, tilting her head toward the window beside Simon's head, her expression thoughtful. "I just wanted to see you."

Despite his surprise and the lurching pain his head, Simon smiled sincerely. "Well," he murmured faintly, "I'm glad."

Clary grinned, finally turning to fully face him, and Simon caught the faint echoes of shock lingering in her eyes from his earlier visit. Guilt twisted his stomach like a blade. But he swept it away and flashed another Hollywood smile, before moving over slightly and smoothing down the rumpled sheets folded over his bed, creating a small spot for her. He patted the mattress in invitation, and Clary's grin widened before she stepped over and gratefully accepted his offer.

Sighing, the young girl closed her eyes and leaned over, falling into the familiar sensation of Simon's side, her head lolling onto his clothed shoulder. Opening her eyes once she was comfortably positioned in the cocoon of the strong arm that wrapped around her waist, she finally seemed to notice the mangled state of Simon's shirt. Her eyebrows raised just slightly, but Simon could tell she had been trying at the one-eyebrow thing.

He laughed softly and then shrugged, wincing when Clary's head bobbed jerkily along with his shoulders. "Sorry," he murmured, and then sighed again. "I guess I just got a little... frustrated."

Clary's green eyes widened, not unlike that of a deer in headlights, and she lifted her curl-capped head to stare guiltily up at him. "Oh, Gawd," she mumbled in a tiny, horror-stricken voice. "I'm sorry! I wondered why you left like that - I didn't know I had been frustrating you! I'm sor-"

Her attempted repetition of the word was muffled by Simon's cold hand over her mouth, and the sight of his dark eyes, glaring reprimandingly down at her. "For fuck's sake, Clary, I didn't mean you did it! I was frustrated because... I'm just a little hungry, that's all," he lied smoothly, dropping his hand from Clary's pale face to play with the shredded edge of his T-shirt. "Squirrels aren't all that filling."

Clary's face flushed considerably, and she looked up into his averted eyes with a guilty gaze. "Oh," she breathed. "Okay...." Her voice trailed off into awkward silence after Simon's unexpected outburst, her fingers sliding into the deep waist pocket of the hoodie she had quickly thrown on after the vampire's ominous departure.

Besides the rapid succession of Clary's nervous breath, accompanied by the buzzing melody of the night creatures outside the locked bedroom window, all was silent. Brilliant ivory light slicked across the curls capping Clary's fiery hair, highlighting the waves into a startling bright pink color. Her eyes slipped slowly shut as she continued to lean heavily into Simon's side, locked in his embrace by the bare arm curling protectively around her slender waist. Her breathing was quickly evening out, falling into a rhythmic pattern not unlike that of ocean waves rolling in to meet the shore.

Simon spared a weary glance down to her face, which was rolled back to gaze up at his own. Instead of meeting a pair mournful green eyes like he had feared he would, Simon instead found himself staring down at the smooth, calm expression of a sleeping Clary Fray.

Despite the sudden gloomy atmosphere, Simon felt his lips tilt up in an amused smile, and found himself having to tear into his lower lip once more, this time to stifle a bout of uproarious laughter. The attempt nearly failed when Clary suddenly shifted beneath the gentle weight of his arm, pulling her feet beneath herself, curling into his side like an abandoned kitten, nuzzling her face cutely into one of the hollows between Simon's ribs.

Simon watched her quietly for a few more seconds, before finally leaning backward to rest his head against the wall, pulling Clary down with him, where, much to Simon's pleasure, she cuddled in his lap like a lover, more than just a friend of nineteen years.


	6. Snapshot

**Disclaimer: **The Mortal Instruments series belongs to Cassandra Clare, not to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

- - - - -

When Clary finally awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep, brilliant sunlight was flooding through the single, bare window above her head. She clenched her eyes shut nearly as fast as she had opened them as the white-gold rays assaulted her eyes, leaving burning spots of dancing color imprinted beneath her eyelids.

Groaning, Clary rolled onto her side, burying her face in the fluffy down of her pillow. She exhaled in relief when the bright spots finally faded from beneath her closed eyelids, and opened her eyes to the sight of shadowed white cloth beneath her head.

It was then that she noticed the smell. A sweet, almost floral scent, like rain in springtime. _Simon, _she thought finally, smiling at the thought of her immortal best friend. But... why would her pillow smell like Simon?

Pulling back away from the pillow with a quick jolt, she was shocked to note that, instead of a simple round mirror dangling on the wall beside the closet, it was a collage of photographs from her childhood.

The most interesting photo was a brightly colored one of Simon and Clary standing beside each other on a wooden dock, holding hands, wearing bright grins and neon T-shirts. Ice cream cones were clasped in their free hands, and a beach background spread out behind them. A sea gull perched on the railing directly behind Simon's black-crowned head, its wings raised, and Clary had to laugh at the sight of her oblivious best friend with grey wings protruding from his skull.

Familiar memories began assaulting her brain, of Myrtle Beach nine summers ago, when Clary was ten and Simon was almost eleven. She remembered the stinging smell of salt water from the ocean attacking their senses, making their eyes water and their throats close with the stale taste of the murky water. She even remembered the sensation of Simon's warm, familiar hand cupping her own, his slim fingers twining effortlessly through hers, much smaller and thinner, Simon's hand dwarfing her own even then.

With a smile now playing on the edges of her lips, the events of the past night easily clicked into place inside her head. She had fallen asleep buried in the cool embrace of Simon's comforting arms, her mind devoid of any thoughts of his earlier outburst, curled up like a lost animal between the iron cage of his bare arms.

_He must have let me have his bed, _she thought in mild alarm, wondering where the vampire boy had layed down to rest. Or if he had at all.

The thought made her mouth twist down and her feeling of elation and comfort deflate a little, but she sighed and rolled to a sitting position on the bed anyway, her eyes roaming across the small, familiar expanse of Simon's bedroom.

A poster of Simon's old band was taped haphazardly to the wall across from the bed, portraying a picture of three guys Clary knew slightly from her past days of mundane high school, and her immortal best friend, then a human, staring somberly down at the camera as he clutched his drumsticks dutifully in his hand. Clary giggled softly at the sight of his sullen face, at the intense light burning in his dark eyes, the way his fingers curled in a white-knuckle grip around the wooden sticks.

Beneath it was another poster, this one angled cleverly below the first, of someone who Clary vaguely remember being named Jessica Alba, Simon's Hollywood crush.

The room was nearly bare except for the two posters, besides a small white dresser placed discreetly in the corner of the room, occupied on top by nothing but a simple black alarm clock and a pair of neatly folded boxers.

And the large collage of pictures hanging beside the sliding closet door. Most of the pictures were of Clary and Simon, either holding hands, smiling at each other, or standing together. She remembered some of them from her past, especially one of the pair standing at the top of a giant waterslide at King's Island one summer, Simon's arms wrapped firmly around Clary's naked waist, whispering in her ear that it was just a slide and some water, and she shouldn't be afraid because he was right there with her. That one had been taken only four summers ago, when they had both just turned fifteen, and Simon had barely begun to experience puberty.

The other random snapshots consisted of Simon's old cat, a few of Luke and Jocelyn together, and one of Clary sitting in her room, her head bent over her sketchpad, pencil cluthced firmly between her fingers, hand a blur in the photo as it sliced bold lines across the paper like her life depended on the task.

Standing, her eyes slightly unfocused from staring so long at the colorful mix of snapshots, she stumbled to the poster board, and snatched the photo of herself and Simon at the beach from nine summers ago from beneath another of the two in Simon's backyard. She stared down at it for a few long seconds, her eyes wide and loving, her fingers gentle as they traced outlines along the pair's clasped hands, their smiling faces, the wings seeming to grow out of Simon's dark head.

With another low sigh and a long look at the snapshot, she shoved it into the pocket of her wrinkled blue jeans and hurried out the room, intent on finding Simon.


	7. Smooth

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot. Cassandra Clare created and owns the rest.

- - - - -

Simon shifted for the twentieth time that morning on the uncomfortable mattress, his unfamiliar weight causing the old wooden bedframe beneath him to creak and groan hollowly in protest. The starched pillow under his head was new, too new, and the extreme fluffiness that sank into Simon's ears made him sigh and shift once more, followed by another withered groan from the bedframe.

The sounds had become a mantra throughout the night, shifting and sighing and groaning, but the noises had quickly grated on Simon's nerves. An overwhelming urge to retreat back to his own room and crawl into bed with Clary had started up around two o' clock that night, and it was prodding persistently at the back of his head, but he knew his best friend would probably find it pretty awkward to wake up in the morning tucked into a frigid vampire's side.

The thought made him smile. But he shoved it away and simply continued tossing and turning and sighing until the wee hours of the morning, when early morning sunshine had begun flooding brilliantly through the window above the uncomfortable bed. The sight of it had made Simon grin and the familiar sensations of pride and relief flood through him when he didn't burn to a crisp and sift away on the slight breeze escaping into the room beneath the wide crack at the bottom of the locked bedroom door. Said door was allowing a sliver of golden light to seep into the room from the hallway, lit up brightly now that the many windows lining the walls of the Institute were filled with thin beams of hazy sunshine.

Eventually, Simon finally pulled himself up from the springy mattress and into a sitting position. His dark jeans and shredded grey shirt were heaped in a corner of the small room, leaving Simon in nothing but a simple pair of black silk boxers he had acquired from Clary on his eighteenth birthday, as a sort of joke. His cheeks had seared with dark pink fire, but Clary had simply laughed.

Cradling his dark head between his hands, elbows resting on his knees, Simon yawned loudly enough for his jaw to crack and the muscles along his shoulders and back to tense and release with an audible pop. His shoulders drooped and he sighed tiredly, closing his eyes as he scrubbed the heels of his hands over them roughly, trying unsuccessfully to rub away the feelings of sleep that washed over him tantalizingly. He was once more tempted to rise from the bed and tiptoe back into his own bedroom. The thought of curling up next to Clary, enveloped in her familiar smell of lavender and citrus, made his head tilt back loosely with a depressed groan, eyes slipping shut as he fell backwards once more.

Just as his head came dangerously close to slamming a hole through the plaster, a tentative knock sounded through the room.

Dark eyes shot open as Simon quickly sat up, ignoring the feelings of dizziness thrown over him in a heavy, blinding veil. The room spun as he bolted to his feet, already knowing who was hidden behind the thick oak door by the faint sound of rustling cloth and the repetitive tap of a small, impatient foot against the carpeted hallway floor.

Temporarily forgetting his state of undress, Simon darted to the door and threw it open with enough accidental strength to make it groan on its hinges as it flew back against the painted wall.

"Clary," Simon sighed, smiling and running a hand distractedly through his rumpled hair, "Hi."

She returned the greeting with a small wave and an answering grin, bright enough to make Simon's heart leap into his throat and his stomach turn to mush and puddle in his toes. He smoothed his captivated expression over with one of easy, familiar cheerfulness, then stepped aside. He swept his arms toward the bed with a flourish, bending low to the ground in an elaborate bow.

Clary chuckled knowingly at the immortal's bent head, then quickly stepped inside the tiny bedroom, her bare feet tapping slightly along the wooden floor as she entered.

Simon pushed the door back into the wooden doorframe with a flick of his wrist once she was perched on the edge of the uncomfortable mattress, and then turned to face Clary with raised eyebrows and an expectant smile. "Something you want?" he asked in playful suspicion.

Clary laughed again, this time with bright enthusiam, and reached up to smooth a straggling strand of fiery hair behind her ear. The movement seemed unconcious. Her eyes remained locked on Simon's face, and he caught the intensity of her stare lingering beneath the cheerful excitement that always seemed present within her familiar green eyes.

She opened her mouth to speak, both hands now folded primly in her lap, but her lips snapped close with an audible click of teeth, her jaw suddenly going rigid as her eyes traveled slowly lower down his figure, pale and slouched, leaning casually against the closed door, a smile still suspiciously tilting his pale lips.

Simon's mouth quickly became devoid of the cheery expression when he caught the shocked weight of Clary's gaze sliding unconciously down his body, captivating eyes wide and disbelieving, muscles tense along her shoulders.

Blanching, Simon finally remembered his obvious state of undress. He snapped his head around, eyes roaming the floor for his abandoned shirt and jeans, hands twitching uselessly at his sides. Just as his lips parted, the first syllable falling nearly inaudibly from his throat, Clary cut him off with an embarrassed giggle and flick of her eyes to his waist.

"Simon." Her tinny voice was low, slightly hoarse, almost sleepy. "Did you know you're half-naked?"


	8. Scared

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare is the respected owner of the _Magnficent _Mortal Instruments series. Not moi, sadly.

- - - - -

Hot pink fire slashed across Simon's pale cheeks. It took a moment of frantic searching before his darting eyes finally caught sight of the clothes heaped in the opposite corner. He cut in a blur across the hardwood floor, and was fully dressed in under three seconds, even the mutilated gray shirt clutching desperately to his slight shoulders, belt snapped loosely into place around the hem of his black jeans.

Shoulders sagging with obvious embarrassment, he turned back slowly to face Clary. She was watching him through green eyes opened wide with her amusement. A smirk was tugging at her pale lips, but she kept a calm expression, trying to save Simon at least a little embarrassment.

Said blushing vampire leaned back against the wall once more. His shoulders heaved with a weary sigh. Despite the sudden shock that had flooded through him at Clary's announcement, the depressing sense of sleep quickly rushed back in fill its place now that he was fully clothed and not stuttering like an idiot. His hands slid into the familiar cavern of his hip pockets as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall beneath him.

Clary, still perched primly on the edge of the springy mattress, shot him an incredulous look, complete with narrowed eyes and a twisted lip. "Simon?" she questioned lowly.

The immortal lifted his head to briefly meet her gaze. His dark eyebrows piqued. "Yeah?" Suspicion darkly colored his tone, but Clary only continued on in that deathly quiet voice.

"Why didn't you come back to your own bed last night? You know I would've given it up."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Simon finally shrugged. "You were just so tired. And you looked so peaceful laying there after I tucked you in," he admitted. "I couldn't wake you up and rob you of that."

Clary's wary expression instantly melted into one of complete embarrassment. "Simon!" she reprimanded, lifting a hand to dramatically clutch at her heart through the fabric of her green T-shirt. "I'm grateful. Really." She dropped her hand and met his questioning eyes once more. "But you know it was your choice. And your bed. I hate that you look so tired now. You're making me feel guilty!" she whined, and then chuckled.

Simon smiled briefly. "Well, sorry. I should've just toed you out of my bed and onto the floor so I could be more comfortable." He wiggled his bare toes at her.

She nodded seriously. "I would feel better."

They were silent.

After about a minute of Simon nodding off against the pale wall, there was the faint sound of rustling cloth, and then the distinct scratchy sound of paper unfolding.

Simon lifted his head slowly, eyes blinking away sleep, and frowned when he saw Clary staring longingly at something clutched in her slim fingers. Her head was tilted down, hiding her expression, but Simon's sharpened eyesight caught the telltale curve of her rosy, freckled cheeks beneath her long hair, and the crinkling at the edges of her barely-visible green eyes. She sighed softly, clutching the thin, shiny paper tighter between her freckle-dotted hands.

Simon gasped when she suddenly sniffled, and the telltale glitter of water could be seen glistening faintly on her cheek.

"Clary?" Simon breathed, stepping away from the wall, all weariness washed from his system, replaced with frantic urgency. "Clary, what's wrong?"

She jerked back, her watering eyes tearing away from the bright paper, her quick, nervous movements suggesting that she had forgotten he had been standing there. She easily batted away the gentle hand that reached for her own in comfort.

Sighing, Clary reached up to wipe the water from her flushed cheeks. Her mouth was turned up, much to Simon's bewilderment, and the smile seemed wistful, airy, as though Clary were off somewhere in her own little world, as she had been most of the time when they were younger.

The paper fell from her hands and landed silently on the hardwood floor at her socked feet. Simon caught a brief glimpse of himself and Clary at a beach when they were kids, and then Clary threw herself at him for the second time in the last twenty-four hours.

Her slender arms hooked around his neck, and she shoved herself into his cold body, weeping quietly against his partially bared chest. The vampire stood motionless for a few slow, lagging seconds, and then he, too, wrapped his arms around her.

Simon's hands insinuated themselves in the familiar curve of her lower back, holding her against his torso, silently allowing her warm tears to flood down his skin and soak the hem of his jeans and the ragged edges of his ripped shirt, one hand gently stroking her fiery hair down against her head.

Her entire body trembled with the force of her silent sobs, and Simon had to surpress a shudder at the feeling of parted lips pressed into his frigid skin, sighing inaudibly with her tears.

He held Clary against him, dropping the hand that had been petting her hair to once more lay against the sensual curve of her lower back. His hands were gentle, slow, Clary realized, and they stroked her skin through the fabric of her thin shirt comfortingly.

It was almost a minute later when the Shadowhunter finally lifted her head. Simon's pale chest was sparkling with patches of salty water, as was the hem of his dark jeans and the frayed edges of his ragged shirt. She tilted her head up and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, twisting back to step away from his iron embrace.

Simon's arms tightened minutely around her waist, holding her firmly in place. His dark eyes were narrowed. "It's fine," he murmured, the gentle, silky tone to his voice startling Clary. She had expected his tone to be the hard, dark, cold growl it had been last night, when he had reprimanded her for thinking he had slept with Isabelle. "Really. But, Clary, why are you crying? I thought you were... happy."

Simon's clear hesitation to say the word twisted her pale lips upward once more. The smile was broken, sad, but genuine. She mumbled his name around a heavy sigh.

"Simon," she began slowly, falling defeatedly back against him when his arms refused to dettach from her waist. "I'm sorry," she repeated, but Simon knew the words held a whole new meaning now.

Clary slumped against his torso heavily. The immortal didn't budge. "I'm just so... so...," she trailed off uncertainly, her eyes roaming the pale walls for an answer as she tilted her cheek against his chest. "_Confused_," she finished on a sigh.

Simon nodded, and Clary felt the brushing of his shaggy hair against the tips of the frizz straggling away from her scalp, almost reaching his chin. He didn't seem to mind. Just continued to gaze down at the crown of her fiery hair, dark eyes sad and expectant.

"About what?" he asked when she made no move to reply.

Clary shifted against him, accidentally brushing her fingertips across his bare abdomen when she lifted them to scrub her palms over her leaking eyes. Simon shivered discreetly at the feel of the feather-light touch dancing over his chilly flesh.

Tilting her head back loosely, she finally met his penetrating stare. She noted absently that his chest still rose and fell beneath her with unneeded breaths. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

Finally, with her eyes locked on his own dark ones, Clary replied, "About _this_." She wiggled her arms out from beside her to gesture blindly at the room around them. But Simon figured the reckless sweep of her hands traveled far beyond the tiny, unfamiliar bedroom. "I'm confused about Shadowhunting. I'm confused about demons. I'm confused about the Institute. I'm confused about Jace." Her expression contorted slightly when she spoke his name, an unnamed emotion flitting hurriedly beneath her green irises. With a frown, she continued. "I'm confused about Isabelle and you, and Maia and you, and me and you, and... and _you_, Simon."

Clary shook her head in genuine awe. "I am truly confused about you. Your immortality, your eating habits, your hunger... My head hurts constantly now, because my mind is always whirling around ways you could just... disappear one day. Slip through my fingers and find a vamp-girlfriend, another immortal, someone you can spend the rest of your life with."

Simon's cheek tightened with pain. "Clary-"

"I'm afraid, Simon." The soft announcement clenched around Simon's unbeating heart with a vengeance, gripping the dead organ between icy fingers and squeezing until his eyes glistened with their own unshed tears.

"Oh, fuck, Clary," he whispered, smashing his arms around her as tightly as possible without squeezing the organs out of her ears. "Clary, Clary...," he breathed, burying his nose in the mane of fiery hair dancing wildly about the crown of her head. She smelled like citrus and lavender and soap, and Simon inhaled the familiar scent deeply, clenching his eyes against guilty tears building on his irises.

He exhaled a heavy, trembling breath, not daring to open his burning eyes, and whispered into her hair, "Clary, I will never leave you. _Never_."

Clary smiled against his chest, even though Simon could feel more tears soaking his pale skin. "You say that now," she replied against him. "And I want to believe you. I want to believe you so bad. But I can't, Simon. Why would you stay around here forever? Even you must get tired of watching me fawn over Jace all day."

He laughed shakily into her mane of red hair. "Never," he repeated. "I will be here until the sun finally decides to scorch the skin off my bones and I sift away on the wind. Until then, I'm here. Right here."

Clary chuckled unsteadily again, her tear-soaked voice muffled by his chest. "Yeah," she said sadly. "I wish."


End file.
